


Tale of the Pumpkin Thief

by rainpuddle13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:30:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainpuddle13/pseuds/rainpuddle13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco gets caught red handed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tale of the Pumpkin Thief

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a shrill voice asked.

Draco froze, silently cursing under his breath at being caught in the pedestrian act of thievery, by the Girl-Weasel no less. Blaise was one dead bastard if he ended up sneezing Bat-Bogeys (again) for conning him into nicking a pumpkin from the greenhouse for one of his (many stupid) schemes.

“What does it look like?” he answered her snidely.

She was upon him before he realized it. “That’s my pumpkin!”

“I don’t see your name on it!”

“It’s mine! I’ve been nurturing it since school started! I have plans for it!”

“Prove it!”

She looked momentarily flustered, then bewildered. “I can’t.”

“Just as I thought,” he drawled, bestowing her with his best smirk as he picked up the perfectly shaped for carving orange gourd. “It will look good in the Slytherin common room.”

“It would look better in the Gryffindor common room,” she shot back.

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Where it might be mistaken for the Weasel-King? I believe his head is about this size.” Draco made a show of lifting the rather large pumpkin while she growled with indignity.

“Go ahead and take it, you thief,” she hissed. “I’ll just steal something of yours!”

“I’d like to see you try,” he challenged, smug in the knowledge she’d never get close enough to him again to so much as steal a fleck of dust off his robes.

She bounced slightly, as if she were excited about something. “It’ll be when you least expect it.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, somehow managing not to roll his eyes at her childish behavior as he brushed past her on the way out, while trying to ignore (in vain) how beautiful her red hair looked in the sharp, pale moonlight filtering through the skylights of Greenhouse No. 4.

“Malfoy?” the redheaded goddess called softly when he’d almost reached the door.

Before he could form an appropriate retort, he was being silenced by the softest mouth he’d ever had the pleasure to kiss. She pressed willingly against him, standing on the tip-toes to further the contact. He would have given anything to wrap his arms around her slender waist and snogged her until she was breathless, but the damnable pumpkin in his hands prevented him from acting upon his illicit thoughts. 

Draco could only stare at the witch before him once she’d finally pulled away from him, leaving him with his mouth hanging slightly agape.

“What’s the matter, Malfoy?” she cooed, a huge grin gracing her generous mouth. “Cat got your tongue? Oh wait, that would be me who has your tongue!”

Never in his life had he’d ever found himself at a loss for words as he watched her flounce away (desperately trying not to focus on the shape of her legs peeking out from under her almost but not quite too short pleated skirt), giggling madly like she’d accomplished some great feat. He’d get her back. He’d make her cry, yes, yes, that’s what he’d do, make her cry in front of all of her stupid little Gryffindor friends in the Great Hall. That would teach her to toy with a Malfoy!

“Damn it!” he cursed loudly mere seconds after he thought (maybe imagined) he saw a flash of creamy thigh and his stolen goods slipped from his slackened hands, exploding with a dull thud on the hard packed dirt floor. Pumpkin innards splattered everywhere, clinging to the fine wool of his trousers and soaking the hand-tooled leather of his Italian loafers. A blob of guts and seeds slid down his cheek, much to his disgust.

“That’ll teach you to steal my pumpkin!” the Girl-Weasel called just before disappearing inside the castle walls.


End file.
